


Unexpected

by azriona



Series: Advent Calendar Drabbles 2015 [5]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Advent Calendar Drabble, Alpha Phil Coulson, Alpha/Omega, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Clint Barton, Omega Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 00:56:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5354789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azriona/pseuds/azriona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint has always hated that his cycles are irregular.  Phil doesn't mind a bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jadesymb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadesymb/gifts).



> Day Five of the Advent Calendar Drabbles for 2015, and another toe dipped in another fandom. Today's prompt is from jadesymb, who actually requested "unexpected heat"; I left off the second word in the title because there's a bit more unexpected than just the heat. I've always liked Clint/Phil, so it was a treat to write it. (I also enjoy when people yell at me in comments.)

It used to annoy Clint, that his cycles were so irregular.  _Mark your calendars, and soon you’ll begin to notice a pattern_ , chirped the cheerful voice on the oh-so-not-helpful videos they’d had to watch in sex ed back in school.  _Keep in mind that 90 days is just the average; your own cycle may vary, and that’s completely normal!_

 

Normal, Clint’s _ass_.  (Literally.)  Sometimes he goes six months without a heat.  Once, he had two heats in a single month.

 

That was before he met Phil, which Phil has always considered a major disappointment.

 

“You didn’t miss much,” Clint tells Phil.  “The closer together my heats, the less intense they are.  I barely even noticed that second one.”

 

“Stop talking sense,” says Phil.  His voice sounds like he’s underwater, when Clint doesn’t wear his hearing aids, but he’s had enough time with Phil that he doesn’t need them to make out the words.  It probably helps that Phil is speaking directly Clint’s stomach, which is currently serving as his pillow.  His breath feathers across Clint’s skin, light and cool, and Clint runs his hands through Phil’s hair – or what remains of it.  “I’m going to pretend you’re just as much a maniac in multiple heats as you are when they’re a year apart.”

 

Clint scoffs.  “Okay, _that’s_ stretching it, even for me.”

 

“Mmm, know what else stretches?” says Phil, all come-hither and terrible pick-up lines, and he works his way up Clint’s skin to kiss Clint on the underside of his jaw.  Clint groans, because the line really is terrible, and because Phil's mouth feels fucking _fantastic_. 

 

“I think it’s over,” says Clint, a little while later.  He’s not too upset about it; just tired, and sleepy, and so so content.  His muscles ache in the best way possible, as if he’s had an hour-long workout in the gym, instead of a three-day sex marathon.

 

“Yeah,” agreed Phil, and pulls Clint close anyway.  “A two-month interval was just about perfect.  Do that again next time.”

 

Clint lets out a soft hoot of laughter.  “I’ll make a note.”

 

“See that you do,” says Phil, and falls asleep.

 

Clint stays awake a little longer.  His body is settling now; despite the pleasant ache in his muscles, he can still feel them quivering and stretching slightly, pulling at each other as they try to find equilibrium.  Phil slumbers next to him, one arm flung over Clint’s torso, just below his heart, just above his….

 

Clint stops, swallows, reassesses.

 

 

Clint breathes out, slowly.  It’s so small, it’s barely a collection of cells.  It’s nothing.  It’s more than nothing.  It’s unknowable.  He knows it anyway, the same as he knows the feeling of hunger or pain or desire.

 

His phone rings.  Normally, Clint would let it go to voicemail – (“I’m fucking busy.  Or busy fucking.  Your call.”) – but just now, the distraction is good.  Phil lets him leave the bed with only the smallest protest, and when Clint comes back ten minutes later, he’s still there, dozing.

 

“Hey,” murmurs Phil when Clint crawls back in next to him.  “I thought we agreed, no calls during estrus.”

 

“Ended an hour ago, remember?”

 

“Nope.”

 

Clint smiles, and slips down until he’s facing Phil, can slip his nose and mouth near Phil’s neck, can feel Phil’s breath rustle his hair. 

 

“Who was it?”

 

“Fury.  Something about providing security for a blue cube thing.”

 

“Sounds boring,” says Phil. 

 

“It’s fine,” says Clint, and it wouldn’t normally appeal to him, but… just now, it does.  Something quiet, and simple, and low-stress.  Something for the first few weeks, because Clint suspects he’s going to need that long to settle into this new state of being, to figure out how the hell to tell Phil that their unexpected heat has a very unexpected consequence.

 

“When do you leave?”

 

“Ten minutes ago,” says Clint.

 

“Great,” says Phil.  “Nap first?”

 

“Hell yeah.” 

 

Phil’s breaths even out; he’s asleep before Clint even finishes speaking.  Clint’s nearly there himself; Fury can just fucking wait.  Clint’s not giving up this hour for anyone.

 

“It’ll be fine,” Clint repeats to himself, and dozes off, one hand on Phil, and one protecting the new life within.


End file.
